Edge of Ascension
by Daxx Ripley
Summary: Bella's life is pleasant and ordinary, until a car crash takes the lives of her mother and stepfather. She's unwillingly given to her biological father and forced to move across the country, leaving behind everything she loves. Bella struggles to cope with her onset of severe PTSD, understanding what happened to her, and trying to decipher who she can trust and who wants her life.
1. I

**A/N: **Okay, ladies and gents. Daxx here! Lets start this off with "All the characters and plots belong to Steph.." and all that good jazz. If this story sounds familiar to you, welcome back. I wrote it some years ago, finished it, and deleted it soon after. I apologize. The good news is that it's back and now better than ever (but with a new title). Now, if you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, then welcome! You're in for some shit, so have a seat and get comfortable. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

* * *

Snow descends quietly from dark skies, blanketing the ground in white. It is a stark contrast; the sky and the ground. Overhead, it is gray and dreary, but from the darkness comes beauty; pure innocence blessing the ground on which it falls. I've always found snow beautiful, and as I sit next to the fireplace and gaze out the window this moment is no different. I'm captivated.

"I'm almost ready!" my mother calls from her bedroom.

A grin spreads across my face and I turn to face my stepfather, Phil, who's sitting on the couch anxiously ready to leave. He returns my grin and offers me an exaggerated eye-roll. We both know my mother will take another half hour before she's finished with her hair, and then she'll change her outfit twice, and only _then_ will she really be ready. We accept this tonight, though, because it is her birthday and the day belongs to her. I've just turned my attention back outside when I hear my mother's shrill voice ring out directly behind me.

"Bella! You're not even dressed!"

I chew nervously on my bottom lip and my face falls. I turn to give her an exasperated look, and sigh. She looks beautiful in her crimson dress and black heels, makeup touched to perfection and topped with a matte red lip.

"Mom, you know I haven't bought a dress since I was six," I respond quietly. "This is fine."

"Bella," she coos. "Wear one of mine, please, just for tonight. I'll never ask you again, I promise!"

"This is going to set us back another two hours. We're going to miss our reservations!" Phil interjects half-jokingly. He's trying to save me, but his efforts are in vain. I'll waste more time arguing than if I just agreed, and I know how ecstatic it would make her.

"Only this once," I agree apprehensively. "And only because it's your birthday, but we have to hurry."

Her eyes light up and a wide, white smile fills her face. She quickly bends down and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet encouragingly and dragging me to her bedroom. I sit at the foot of the bed and stare into her closet. Nothing inside could possibly fit me correctly, I'm too clumsy for heels, and I know I'll feel awkward and out of place all evening. But the joy she's feeling just getting me to wear something other than jeans and converse makes me happy, so I grudgingly sit and let her parade dresses in front of me until we find a happy medium.

She's narrowed her escapade down to two dresses; one black, one navy. I choose the black one, hoping to draw as little attention to myself as humanly possible. She places the dress on the bed and pulls me into the bathroom where the fun really starts to kick in. She spends fifteen minutes curling my hair, even though I would've never thought it possible for her to curl hair so quickly, and another twenty on my makeup. By the time she's finished, I don't even look like myself anymore. She brings me the dress and a pair of black heels and persistently thrusts them into my hands. I sigh one last time, strip out of my comfortable jeans and t-shirt, and put on the dress and heels.

The dress is shorter than I had imagined when I looked at it. It stops mid-thigh and has an open back, which I also missed upon inspection. The dark black contrasts with my creamy, pale skin strangely, though my mother insists I look absolutely stunning. I'm too muddled to think clearly. I walk slowly to her full length mirror to get a real look at myself. The heels elongate my slender legs, and I look much taller. I didn't realize just how slender I was until I put on heels and a black dress. My hair is shining and the curls frame my face in all the right ways, my dark eyes are lit with black eyeliner on top, and my mother finished with her famous red lipstick. Awkward as I feel, I can't help but think that for once in my life I actually look pretty. I only wish I felt more comfortable.

Phil rushes into the bathroom, face flushed and eyeing his watch. He says in a rush, "Okay, lets go! Bella, you look wonderful, absolutely beautiful. Can we go? We're going to be late!"

"Okay! Okay!" My mother replies, grinning. She tosses her hands in the air, plants a quick kiss on his lips, and pulls him out of the bathroom. I tiptoe out behind them, careful not to fall in my shoes.

"I'll drive," I say, plucking the keys from the kitchen counter.

"Baby, are you sure? There's a lot of snow on the ground, probably a little ice too," my mother asks, pulling her eyebrows together worriedly.

"It snows every year and I always drive in it. It'll be fine," I reply, rolling my eyes.

Before she can resist anymore, I leave them in the kitchen and walk into the garage and start the car. The air is ice cold and I pull my jacket tighter around me, blasting the heater. Phil and my mother follow shortly and get in the backseat together. I smile inwardly at them. My mother is so deserving of someone who treats her well after everything my father put her through; abuse both physical and mental. I was nine when she moved us out of Forks, Washington and away from my father. We moved back with her mother in Rhode Island, and a few short years later my grandmother passed away. It was in my mother's darkest hour of grief that Phil walked miraculously into our lives. He was gentle, kind, and respectful; everything we both needed in that moment. It took time, but after some years they married. And I couldn't be happier for them.

"Off we go!" Phil says from the backseat as he rests his long arm across my mother's shoulders. "You look stunning, Renee."

Her face flushes and she beams. I put the car in reverse and the engine hums quietly as I pull out into the snow and we depart. The restaurant is in the city, about thirty minutes away. The sun is setting lower by the minute, and I turn the headlights on to see better. Quickly falling snow makes it difficult to see, but I somehow manage.

"Bella, change the station, plea–" my mother begins, then stops abruptly. "Never mind! Keep your eyes on the road."

She leans forward between the seats and begins fiddling with the radio until she finds something she likes. She turns to face me, mumbling something about the band and their lead singer. I take my eyes off the road for two seconds, but that's all it takes. I hear Phil shout my name from the backseat and then the car is flushed with light. Cold, panic adrenaline thunders through my veins, and before my gaze even makes it back to the road, I slam my foot on the brakes. Tires squeal and I jerk the wheel sharply to the left, panicking. We begin to slide on the road, and I lose control. My mother grips the dash with white knuckles, a terrified scream tearing from her throat as she notices, just before me, the oncoming car we're seconds away from hitting. I've veered into the opposite lane. I open my mouth to echo her screams, but the accident happens too fast for me to process. There is a moment just before the oncoming vehicle smashes headfirst into our car where I know without a doubt that I'm going to die, and a heartbeat later my world is swallowed by black.

When my eyes open, I see red. Everything that once was white is laced in crimson. When I push myself off the ground, pain reverberates through my temples and my vision crosses. I try to pull myself to my knees, but a torturous pain radiates up my right thigh. My face twists sickeningly and I scream out in agony. I know without looking that my femur is broken. I fall back onto the snow pathetically, choking for air and sobbing uncontrollably. I can't think clearly. What happened? I can't see straight, I don't even know where I am. I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can and bury my face in the snow beneath me, screaming out until my lungs are screaming too. My wailing dwindles to pathetic sobs. I swallow my fear and lift my face to the accident.

It is only then that I hear the desperate screaming.

What's left of the car is flipped upside down. The front is completely destroyed, crumpled into the backseat like a tin can. It's not seeing the damage like this that makes my mouth drop open and cold panic set in, it's the bright curtain of flames that devour my car. I pull myself forward desperately as another scream rips into the air. I've all but forgotten about my leg until white hot pain sears my very vision and another bloody scream erupts from my lips. My entire body tenses and I lie helplessly in the snow, crying out for my family trapped in the wreckage. A putrid smell reaches my nostrils and the screaming from inside the car peaks. I'm smelling burning flesh. I turn my face just in time to retch until my stomach muscles cramp and my body is wrecked with convulsions. Above the agonized cries inside the car, I can hear an ambulance in the distance. My voice has gone raw, and though they can't hear me, I plead at the top of my lungs for the paramedics to hurry. I cry out to anything, anyone. Somebody, _please, _save them! Somebody, get them out! But nothing answers.

And then I taste death's kiss.


	2. II

**A/N:** Daxx here, and it's update time! Steph owns everything, obviously. Fear not, all of your questions and concerns after this chapter will be answered in future chapters! Enjoy!

* * *

"It's a miracle that she's alive now, but there's no guarantee that she'll pull through. We've done all we can for her, but she's been unconscious for three days. She's unresponsive, but she has some brain activity. She's suffered a broken femur, clavicle, two ribs, and a cracked tibia, along with a concussion. She needed seventeen stitches in her head alone, and six on her face. You understand, Mr. Swan, that your daughter is in a very serious condition."

"And Renee?"

"I'm sorry. Renee was DOA. She was trapped inside the car when it caught on fire."

"But they got Isabella out!"

"Isabella was out of the vehicle upon arrival. Truthfully, no one knows how she got out. The front of the vehicle was so smashed, it would've been impossible... We suspect she was thrown from the vehicle upon impact. No one can know for certain, of course. We'll keep you updated on any changes in her condition."

* * *

My bedroom is black as the night is dark. I lift my hand in front of my face and can't see it. A tremor flits through my body. The air is ice cold in my room. I push the covers back and climb from my bed. Stumbling blindly through my room, my hands finally find the light switch on the opposite wall. I flip it up anxiously but nothing happens. A cold dread sits on my chest and I have to force myself to breathe. My nerves are shot, and I'm fearful but I don't know why. I cross the dark room and fumble for the doorknob. My fingers find it and pull the door open quickly, desperate for some source of light. The brass knob is like ice on my fingers and a small spark shoots through my hand.

I jerk my hand free and hurry out of my room, not bothering to close the door behind me. The house is eerily quiet. There's no hum of the refrigerator or heater, the tv isn't on, and no one's voice can be heard. It's deadly silent. Everything is drenched in shadow, except for a lone lamp at the end of the hallway in the living room. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. The warm air passes my lips and exits a cool fog. I can see my breath. My bare feet pad quietly down the long hallway. Something doesn't feel right. Something is off, I just can't put my finger on it. It feels wrong. The hair on my arms prick up, and I get the feeling of being watched. I turn and look down the hallway in the direction I came, and my bedroom door is shut. I didn't close it. My hands become clammy and begin to shake, and I wipe them on my jeans and steady myself as I turn and walk slowly to the living room.

After walking what feels like a mile, I reach my destination. The lamp on the opposite side of the room flickers threateningly, flirting with darkness, and my breath pauses expectantly.

"Bella?"

An icy chill travels down my spine when I hear my name. My heartbeat is drumming in my ears following my racing pulse. It's my mother. She's sitting on the couch with her back to me, but she seems too stiff. Her head turns to the right slightly, giving me a profile view.

"Bella?" She asks again softly.

My hands begin to shake nervously. This can't be real; I was with her when she died. I force myself to breathe slowly, but can't force words to come out of my mouth. She tries to look at me now, twisting her head further to the right. There's an audible crack as her head rotates too far, but now she can see me. I stumble backwards blindly and open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

"Bella," she purrs softly.

Her eyes are coal black and her skin a pale, ghostly white. She gives me a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. I try to turn around and run, but my feet won't move. I'm immobile now. She stands from the couch, turns her head back into a normal position, and gives me a sinister smile.

"Are you afraid of me?"

I close my eyes. I can't stand to look at her any longer. I can hear my blood pumping loudly in my ears, and fear is pulsing my veins. I'm terrified. Seconds of silence feels like hours, and when I open my eyes, her face is inches from mine. This time, I do scream. I struggle to put one foot behind the other, to get away from her black eyes and evil gaze as quickly as possible.

"It's not real," she says quietly, matching me with each step, cocking her head to one side.

"It's not real," she repeats in a deeper, forceful voice, narrowing her dead eyes.

Her arms shoot out and grab my shoulders, shaking me violently. My body goes cold, all the warmth drained at her touch. I begin to lose consciousness, but just before I pass out I hear her possessed voice shout one more time, "It's not real!"

* * *

"Her heart rate is increasing rapidly. Her oxygen level is dropping. Patient is exuding signs of Ventricular Fibrillation. Get me the defibrillator ready stat or she'll fall into cardiac arrest and we'll lose her!"

The doctor's voice sounds distant and murky, as if I'm listening from underwater. I desperately want to open my eyes, but I can't move. My lungs burn painfully and I struggle to take in oxygen. I'm choking on air, mouth open wide, my futile efforts to breathe failing with each passing second. My body begins to react, panicking as it senses death approaching, and my eyes fly open. I see the nurse's and doctor's surprised expression a heartbeat before I feel the electrical current pulse my chest.

And once again, the darkness envelopes.

I'm unsure how long I'm left to the dark, but after what feels like an eternity of living a nightmare, there is light. It's bright and blinding, and as it moves I see a man on the other side. It is then that I realize he's a doctor, holding a light to my eyes and checking for pupil dilation. I really am alive.

"Isabella," he says gently. "Isabella, focus on my voice. I'm Dr. Chavez. You're in the hospital. You've been in an accident. Can you tell me your full name?"

I blink against the harsh lighting of the hospital and do a quick sweep of the room. My father is in a chair to my left and the doctor stands by my bed to my right. He's stepped back, holding a clipboard beneath his arm and looking at me expectantly. A mixed feeling of serenity and annoyance envelopes me, and I grow confused.

"Bella," I choke, my voice chaffed. I cough, the tremor causing pain to spark my body and my face to contort.

"I'll get you something stronger for the pain," the doctor says immediately, pressing the nurse's call button. "Your full name, please."

"Isabella Marie Swan," I answer in a whisper.

"You're in the hospital, Isabella. You've been unconscious for seven days, you nearly died. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Everything floods back to me simultaneously; the fear, the sound of the screams, the pain, the smell. I hear the heart monitor begin to beat more rapidly, echoing my heartbeat. The doctor furrows his brows and places his hand over mine.

"You're okay, Isabella. We've taken very good care of you. Everything's going to be okay."

But all I can think about is my mom and her screams. I heard her die – watched her burn. I choke back a sob, but can't stop myself from crying. It's only after I allow myself to openly cry that I lose control of the sob, and then I lose control of myself. My entire body is a mess of mental and physical pain, and at this moment all I want is to die with them.

The doctor silently exits the room to give my father and I some privacy. I can't look at him. My sobs grow softer until it is just a quiet weep. The calm feeling I once had is gone, replaced with irritation and anger. I can't control my emotions and I don't know why. I close my eyes, lift my hand to wipe my face clean, and take a deep breath.

"Doc says you can go home tomorrow," my dad says in a quiet, rough voice.

It's only now that I realize I'll be forced back to Forks to live with him. My irritation becomes mixed with dread and fear, and my head begins to ache. I rub my temples, try and calm myself, but my chest feels tight and my head is on fire.

"You could give me up for adoption, you know," I offer softly, though it sounds like a plead.

He replies with a laugh, and suddenly my emotions whirl and I, too, feel sick amusement. I don't like it.

"Isabella, I never wanted you and your mother to leave."

"_Of course not. With us gone, on whom would you release your anger?_" I think silently.

He's a manipulator. I know this. Countless times as a child I watched him drink himself into an abyss, until he was too drunk to think coherently. I remember hearing them screaming at each other, hearing the thumps from the isolation of my bedroom as he slammed her into the wall, and seeing the bruises tattooed on her face the next day. And I remember him hitting me too. Only once – as that's all it took for my mother to pack everything we could fit in our tiny car and get the hell out of Forks.

But the fear of my father still remains, because bruises and bones heal but scars are eternal.

* * *

"I've set you up a follow up appointment with a great doctor in Forks in two weeks. You seem to be healing at an alarmingly quick rate, that's a great sign. Just try to take it easy, keep off your leg if you can and get plenty of rest."

"Thank you," I whisper, wincing as I adjust myself in the wheelchair.

Charlie doesn't speak another word to the doctor, he merely whisks me forward out of the hospital room and toward the elevator. The hallway is filled with people, and suddenly my head is in a whirl. I don't understand what is happening to me, but my anxiety skyrockets and my hands begin to shake. I'm riding a wave of fear, happiness, heartache, exhaustion, and grief. The overwhelming emotions dizzy me. Why am I feeling all of this? My thoughts are screaming at me, my temples thundering. I pull at my hair and wince, mentally begging for everything to stop – make the emotions stop screaming. But it only increases until I hear the beep of the elevator and I pass out.

When I return consciousness, I'm riding in the passenger seat of Charlie's truck and we're making a straight shot for Forks. I passed out in the hospital and he wasn't even concerned enough to call the doctor. I curse under my breath and rest my forehead on the window. The roller coaster of emotions has stopped, though, and for that I'm eternally grateful. I rack my brain trying to come up with an explanation for what I was feeling, but fall short. Maybe the accident gave me brain trauma that the doctor missed, or maybe it was just all in my head. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I don't know the difference between my nightmares and reality.

I fumble in my jacket pocket for the medication the doctor gave me and pop something in my mouth that will put me to sleep. I didn't realize how much I would regret it, though.

The nightmares are color vivid and alive. Everything feels so real, I think it's my new reality. I relive the accident a hundred times. I see my mother's dead face. Sometimes she's possessed and sometimes she's charred and her skin is boiled and black. I finally force myself awake and I'm drenched in a cold sweat. I have no idea how long I slept. My muscles are tense; my entire body is crying in agony. My head is thumping in pain, but my emotions are dead quiet – all my pain in this moment is physical.

I glance around, assessing my surroundings. I begin to grow scared. How long did I sleep? My hands are shaking. I recognize this room.. It's my old bedroom. We're already back in Forks. Trapped in my nightmare, I slept too long. I wince and force myself to sit up. There's a cast on my right leg. I vaguely remember thinking my leg broke, and I was correct. I struggle to remember everything after the crash. How did I get out of the car? There's something I'm forgetting, I can feel it. I know it's tucked away in a crevice of my memory, but the closer I get to it the whiter everything becomes and then it's lost. I give up and reach for the crutches across the foot of my bed.

I stumble into the bathroom and brace myself on the cold sink. My reflection scares me. My skin is sallow and colorless. There are dark blue circles under my eyes, and my face is painted with fading bruises. My forehead is laced with stitches and my bottom lip is split. I probe my head and wince as my fingers connect with more stitches. I feel suddenly exhausted, but my stomach knots in fear at the mere thought of sleeping. I turn the faucet on and let the warm water cascade down over my icy hands. I can't seem to get warm enough. I close my eyes and splash water on my face, careful around my stitches. When I wipe my eyes and look back at myself in the mirror, I see my mother standing behind me. Her skin is charred and black, and blood is draining from her eyes. A scream rips from my throat and I spin quickly, twisting my leg and crying out. She's not behind me. My eyes frantically search the small bathroom and doorway, but I'm alone. I lean my back against the seat and press my hand to my chest, trying to steady my racing heartbeat.

_What the hell is going on?_

* * *

If you have any theories on what's happening, I'd love to hear them! What do you think is happening? Who are you most looking forward to seeing soon? Ugh, Charlie. What a douche! It only gets worse from here, kittens. xo


	3. III

Sunshine fades to darkness, day in and day out I spend in my new, but old, bedroom. Everything is untouched, exactly as it was when we left years ago. I leave the comfort of my bedroom only to use the bathroom, and dare to venture downstairs only when I'm certain Charlie is asleep or at work. I keep our interaction as minimal as possible, but living with him makes ignoring him impossible. There is nowhere to hide. I walk on eggshells every time I'm stuck in a room with him – mentally and physically on edge, waiting for a blow or a shout. To my surprise, he hasn't put a finger on me. Yet.

Seven days I've been trapped in this house. Dr. Chavez was right; I'm healing faster than normal. The bruises on my face have healed to a mute yellow, the cut on my lip is all but gone, and the pain in my bones is a dull ache. I pick up a pencil from the dresser next to my bed and shove it inside the cast on my leg, desperate to scratch the itch consuming my thigh. I want more than anything to have this cast off, to be able to walk without feeling crippled. I drop the pencil on the bed with a sigh, having found no relief. I rest back on my pillow and close my eyes. I'm torn.

I severely need sleep, but the nightmares have consumed me. I flushed all the sleep medication the doctor prescribed me. I've also brought the coffee pot upstairs to my bedroom. It's the only thing that keeps me awake. And when the coffee isn't working and sleep is purring to me, I open the window and let my room grow too cold. I will do absolutely anything to stay awake.

But I can't stay awake forever. Sleep pulls me under for short hours at a time, and each time I wake screaming into my pillow and trembling all over. The terrors are killing me, and I'm completely helpless.

A knock on my door startles me fully awake, and I sit up abruptly. The door creaks open and it's Charlie, police uniform and all. I sit completely still, watching him carefully. He leans against the door frame, resting his weight and crossing his arms.

"Doc called me today. He has an opening and wants you in early to give you a check up. Be ready in an hour."

Without another word, he turns and shuts the door behind him. Brief and choppy – he hasn't changed much over the years. I look down at my pajamas and rub my eyes roughly in annoyance. I have only one set of clothes; the pair that Charlie brought to the hospital for me to go home in. I loathe the idea of shopping but I know I'll have to eventually. I take my time pulling on the jeans and t-shirt. I stumble into the bathroom to wash my face, pull my dull hair up into a messy ponytail, and brush my teeth. I put off going downstairs until we have to leave.

Charlie is waiting on me. As soon as I see him, I feel anxious and irritated again. Why am I always so irritated around him? I lean against my crutch and avoid his gaze. He rises silently and grabs his keys from the key rack, muttering for me to follow. He offers no help.

It's cold and raining outside, and by the time I make it inside the truck I'm all but soaking. I dry my face with the inside of my jacket and pull the hood over my head, shivering. Forks looks exactly the same, I notice. Nothing has been updated, I don't think the town even has a Wal-Mart.

The hospital is small, a fraction of the size of the hospital I was in previously. I take a deep breath in, bracing myself to open the door and step back out into the rain. Wind whips the rain into my face when I step out of the car, and for a brief second I'm blinded. I rub my eyes furiously and lean on my crutch. My annoyance is peaking. I pull the hood down over my eyes and watch the ground as I walk, trusting that people I pass would make way for the cripple. When we walk inside through the emergency room, the waiting room is filled with people. I notice a young boy with a broken arm and a pregnant woman with a bucket in her lap. A surge of emotions rushes through me and I stumble as the onset disrupts my balance. I feel a sharp pain shoot down my arm followed by a wave of nausea, and before I can take another step I bend over and vomit on the floor. My vision swims and my stomach continues to churn. The ground rushes up to meet my face, but just as I'm about to connect, hands wrap around my waist and steady me.

"Breathe," A soft, soothing voice commands.

I lift my eyes and see warm, golden eyes and stark blonde hair. The man gives me a gentle smile, flashing perfect teeth.

"Dr. Cullen," Charlie greets.

"Mr. Swan," he returns. "Isabella? You're oka–"

His voice stops mid-sentence and he pauses, watching me intently. He pulls me gently to my feet and studies my face. I still feel sick and the pain in my arm is growing unbearably worse by the second. I cover my mouth and close my eyes, silently willing myself to not throw up again.

"Have your eyes always been violet?" he asks quietly.

My eyes open slightly and he's watching me. I'm confused for a moment, but the confusion is swallowed by a sudden rush of astonishment and worry. "_Why am I worried? Why can't I control my emotions?_" I mentally scream.

"My eyes are brown," I answer quietly.

"Your eyes are violet," he says quickly.

"What?" I furrow my brows, shaking my head slightly. "My eyes aren't violet, they're brown. No one has violet colored eyes."

He nods to himself, averts my gaze, and beckons me to follow him out of the ER. When the doors close behind us, the nausea and pain in my arm is suddenly gone. I stop abruptly and look behind me, back towards the ER. But before I can think any further, his voice is calling me towards the elevator and I soon find myself in his examining room.

"I'd like to speak with her privately," Dr. Cullen says to Charlie. "You can wait outside."

"I'll be in the waiting room. I need coffee. My coffee maker disappeared," he muttered, flicking his gaze towards me.

Charlie leaves the room and Dr. Cullen closes the door behind us. The room is small, white, and cold. The paper crumples as I pull myself up and sit down. Dr. Cullen sits on a rolling chair and wheels in front of me. Before he speaks, he puts a small mirror in my hand and points to my face. Confused, I hold the mirror up and look at my reflection. The color drains from my face. My eyes are deep shade of violet.

"That's not possible," I whisper, shaking my head. "My eyes are brown, my eyes have always been brown."

"Lets check your stitches and bones," he says quietly, changing the subject and plucking the mirror from my hand.

His fingers probe my head gently and run across the stitches on my face. His eyebrows pull together in worry, and I feel suddenly on edge.

"We can take the stitches out, these wounds have healed," he comments under his breath. "Tell me if this hurts."

He presses his fingers into my collarbone. I remain still, waiting expectantly for pain but receiving none. I shake my head.

"Your bones are healing at an alarming rate. Isabella, can you remember anything from the night of the accident?"

My eyes drop to my hands and I pick at my fingernails. The last thing I want to do is relive it. My hands begin to tremble as my mind picks apart the accident.

"It was snowing. I lost control, veered into the opposite lane, and we crashed," I whispered, biting down on my lip hard.

"Do you remember how you got out of the car?"

"No."

"Did anyone come to your aid? Did you see another person–"

"No, I don't remember," I repeat in frustration.

He rolls back a foot or two and nods to himself. His fingers lace together and he gives me a very serious look.

"Isabella, are you experiencing anything you can't explain?"

"I have night terrors. I barely sleep. They're so. . . realistic," I opt to leave off the part where I'm seeing my dead mother in my house, as I'm afraid he'll think I'm crazy. "I can't control any of my emotions. I don't even know what happened in the ER. . . one second I was fine and the next my arm was throbbing and I felt so sick. But now I'm fine again. I don't know what's happening to me."

"I figured as much," He says. I wonder briefly what he means, but then he continues. "Listen to me carefully – it's important that you don't leave yourself alone. You're suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Anxiety and nightmares will be your normal, but with therapy and medication you'll be okay. It's best if you have someone with you that you trust at all times, and try to only leave your home during daylight. Do you understand?"

"Not really. . . I can't go out at night?" I ask, tilting my head to one side.

"It's safer if you don't. Now, lets get this cast off your leg. We'll do x-rays, but I'm sure your bones have healed enough to go home in a brace. You can take the brace off when you shower and sleep."

He pats my shoulder gently and leaves the room I remain seated, utterly confused. I'm filled with so many unanswered questions. I feel myself ready to cry, and hold my breath. I want nothing more than my mother right now.

* * *

"Carlisle's home early. He's worried about something."

"Isn't he always?" Emmett comments from across the room.

My eyes flit to him and, as usual, he seems uninterested. I hear the front door open and stand from my spot on the couch. Alice follows me to Carlisle expectantly.

"Lets all have a seat," he says gently, rubbing his eyes together.

I take my seat next to Alice. Everyone gathers, all eyes remain on Carlisle. I try not to invade his thoughts, as I always do, to respect his privacy. But my curiosity is peaking.

"Carlisle?" Esme asks softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I need you all to go hunting tonight. Especially you, Jasper. You need to stay well fed at all times."

"What's going on?" Jasper asks, cocking his head to one side.

"Charlie Swan's daughter came in today for a checkup. She was in a severe car accident, it's a miracle that she survived. I think," he pauses briefly and leans back on the couch, shaking his head. "I think she's a daylighter."

I run my fingers roughly through my hair, rising from the couch and pacing the room.

"Are you sure?" I ask, watching him closely.

"What's a daylighter?" Jasper asks curiously before Carlisle can answer me.

"A daylighter is a human who has felt the physical touch of an angel. It makes them a child of the light, changes their genetic makeup. It's nothing noticeable unless you know what you're looking for. I believe that's how she survived the crash. She doesn't remember how she got out of the car, and it's highly unlikely she was thrown from the vehicle upon impact after assessing her wounds."

"But what does it mean?" Jasper asks, unable to follow.

"A daylighter is a gift to humans to fight vampires. Their blood is extremely valuable to hunters. It's fatal to us when injected into our bloodstream, as they are blessed from an angel. Daylighters are rare, I've only ever met one," I say in a rush of air, taking my seat next to Alice once again.

"But vampires can drink the blood of a daylighter and it greatly increases their strength, speed, and in rare cases will give them new abilities. They're valuable, not just to hunters. Vampires will catch her scent and seek her out, it's only a matter of time," Carlisle says quietly.

"And you're sure she's one?"

"All the signs were there, Edward. The violet pigment in her eyes and bones that should've taken months to heal took two weeks. She's also highly sensitive to others' emotions. She only had to walk in a room with a pregnant woman who felt morning sickness before she, herself, got sick. I'm afraid it won't be long before she's enrolled in school, so I need you all prepared. Her scent is going to be stronger, her pull harder, and it's going to be like being a newborn all over again. Especially for Jasper."

Everyone's gaze follow to Jasper. Alice is at his side in an instant, smiling down at him.

"We'll help you. It'll be fine," she says reassuringly.

"It'll be different for you too, Alice," Carlisle comments softly.

"He's right," I agree. "The girl I met... it was unlike anything I've ever felt before. It's worse than being a newborn. It's painful, to say the least."

"Is it possible for her to live a normal life after this?" Rosalie's voice startles me, it's unlike her to care.

"Unlikely. Most daylighters are killed in their first year by vampires who can't control their bloodlust. They'll find her eventually," Carlisle's face is pained and distorted.

"Can we help her?" Alice asks softly.

"I don't know if anyone can help her now," Carlisle replies gravely.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, bless my soul. Two chapters in one day, I'm on one. This one explains a lot that may have confused you, and you got your first taste of the Cullens! Perfect. Leave a review and let me know what you think! xo


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